


Kaleidoscopes

by Whirlygig95



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whirlygig95/pseuds/Whirlygig95
Summary: A little while back I was asked by a reader of my ongoing fic,Ballum UnScene,if I would consider giving my take on an iconic moment from Ballum canon that took place before the point from whichUnScenestarted.Well, Laura, some 4 months on from that request, & in no small part thanks to some additional headspace created by lockdown, here it is: my version of what happened in canon & beyond.As withUnscene,I can’t write anything without context, hence this will be a short serialisation – of around 6 or 7 chapters, depending on how things pan out as I write. I have in mind to put a little twist at the end, if I can make it happen…😉I hope you enjoy…it seems apt to post during this week, for reasons that should become apparent…
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura/gifts).



_As a child, Callum Highway's favourite toy was a kaleidoscope. Nothing flash like all the other kids had: Power Rangers or the like; just a cylindrical tube that came to life as you held it in your gaze & twisted at its core. _

_If Callum had to find words to describe his childhood & associated upbringing, he supposed they would be: unfulfilled, suppressed, downtrodden._

_Maybe that was why, as a youngster in the early years of primary school, he used to carry that kaleidoscope around with him everywhere. Then, whenever things got tough, or someone uttered hurtful words, he could simply lose himself among the swirling patterns & colours so randomly generated by his beloved toy. _

_His father Jonno despised that toy, of course. In part maybe because it was a lasting relic of the existence of Callum's mother; but more than that, because of the fantasy world it allowed Callum to escape to._

_“Life ain't no fairytale boy…” - Callum could still recall his father’s cutting words to him when he was little over six years old – “And even if it was, no princess would want savin' by a wet blanket like you...”_

_That day, the kaleidoscope had been snatched from Callum's grasp & hurled across the room by Jonno in a fit of pique. The young boy had made haste after the toy, tearful at the prospect it might have been broken beyond repair. The relief Callum had felt when finding that not to be the case, like nothing else he had ever known before._

_Because that kaleidoscope, & the wonders it contained, were his lifeline. Never-ending swirls & spirals of delight that he could transfix his gaze to for hours on end, losing himself from reality for a while. _

_In a peculiar sense, his adult self found similar sanctuary when accepting the offer of the flat above the funeral parlour: the walls there covered in eclectic, vibrant colour schemes, one wallpaper pattern in the living area particularly reminiscent of his old faithful kaleidoscope & the sense of serenity it always gave him. Perhaps unknowingly his subconscious had been seeking somewhere safe for him to hide away again all along…_

_ _ _

Callum kidded himself into momentarily believing that there was no real reason why that memory had just popped into his head; no real reason why he had just made the connection between that kaleidoscope & his current so-called life. He’d be doing himself a disservice though, & deep down he knew it. 

Stepping out from the E20 into the darkness of the June night, he buried his hands in his jacket pockets & took up a stride that was part trepidation, part purpose. This was a pre-meditated sortie in which he had instigated his own active role by text message exchange some ten minutes earlier: the advance party taking up an early forward position; Callum following on at regulation safe distance. 

As he walked, a cacophony of voices clamoured for attention in his head, each hell bent on being heard. It was Jonno that always shouted the loudest though, blustering his way to the forefront with his state of brash intolerance. 

_Where d’ya think yer goin’ boy?_

_Turn back around now – back to that pretty little piece of yours - & we’ll say nothin’ more about this…_

More would be said about of it, in reality, of course: less so through spoken words than through physical violence. A blow to the head – _to knock some much needed sense into ya_ \- & a knee to the groin – _should render them parts incapable for a few days, just in case any of them sick thoughts is still in ya head…_

That was why, in part at least, the voices always won out in the end: the threat of more violence enough to dissuade Callum from listening to his heart’s desire, let alone entertaining it.

There had been another voice added to the discord of late though, & it was one that was more persistent than Callum’s will had ever been. In its earliest days it had mocked & derided, just like all the others, but a wind of change had soon swept through, & its tone had switched to understanding & encouragement:

_Ben Mitchell_

Callum had never come across any such concern by another for himself before, so it had taken time to adjust to it. Which was why there, in the hubbub of the club, with the voices in his head drowned out for once by the music that was playing, Callum let himself listen to the sentiment held within Ben’s voice alone, & began to relate to it for the very first time.

_Whatever your head is tellin’ ya, you’ve gotta listen to your heart_

There had been a deeper resonance in that statement for Callum than Ben could possibly have ever known: the younger man not striking him as someone that ever heard the winds of self-doubt blow through his mind, or the voices of mocking descent play on repeat through his head. 

_Why ya so bovvered about me?_ Callum had openly questioned of the man, seeing little similarity between them. Ben’s answer though had struck at his gut like a lead balloon: _Why d’ya think?_ The card of attraction had been effortlessly dealt, Callum in that moment knowing he could match it with one of his own, if only he were brave enough to play it.

Which was why now, some eighteen-and-a-half minutes later – Callum could be precise about that, have no doubt: his mind having marked the passing of every single intervening second – he found himself traversing the darkness of the night, finally in search of his true self. 

The briefest exchange of clandestine text messages had put this arrangement in place: Ben flaunting his way from the club, suggesting the promise of an anonymous hook up to anyone that was listening; Callum feigning tiredness to slip away unquestioned. Ben’s pause at the door, & the look he threw back to Callum, suggesting between both of them though that something entirely different was at play, even if the friends they left behind were none the wiser.

When Callum had set foot out into the darkness, he’d done so with a head spinning full of Ben’s bravado, accompanied by a sense of self-worth he’d rarely experienced before, if ever. For the first time in his life, he felt desire; but more than that, he equally felt desired. A sense of near euphoria pulsed through his veins at the chemical reaction taking place.

But there lurking in the shadows as he walked were ghosts from his past that still wouldn’t let him be. They loitered behind every building & hedgerow he passed, whispering bigoted warnings to turn himself back around before it was too late. 

_You ain’t one of THEM are ya boy? A woofter, a faggot, a bender, a pervert…_

Callum felt his stride shorten a little with every insult that whistled through the air surrounding him; felt the infusion of boldness inherited from Ben wane with every step he trod. And as his progress became ever more laboured, so a second memory of that faithful kaleidoscope came to mind…

_ _ _

_Callum had returned home from a day at secondary school in upbeat mood: he had every reason to be content after all. Now a term into Year Nine - that mellow existence in senior school that sits equidistant in every child’s education: no longer the wide-eyed naïve fresh intake of Year Seven, but without the pressure of the unstoppable tick-tock of the clock leading inexorably to public exams in Year Eleven. Life for Callum Highway was finally starting to feel good: he muddled by through lessons, living for the time the bell rang so he & his mates could kick a ball around outside again. _

_Having celebrated a 3-2 victory straight after school that night, he ambled his way home: white football shirts stained by grass from the tackles he’d performed, blue t-shirt daubed with sweat marks from the physical exertion of the game. Unlike some of the other kids, he couldn’t afford a proper football kit, but they accepted him on their team nonetheless, such was his renowned footballing prowess._

_Absent-mindedly still reliving the finer points of his own equalising goal, Callum fumbled his key to the front door & let himself inside, slipping his rucksack from his shoulder & letting it drop to the floor. He scuffed his football boots off his feet & set himself in the direction of the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. _

_It was approximately five seconds later that he began to wish he’d stayed out for another game…_

_There, seated at the kitchen table, with a thunderous scowl & reddened jowls, was his father. Callum visibly recoiled at the man’s mere presence, shrinking back from the icy glare that was directed towards him through ever narrowing, scrutinising eyes. Jonno’s existence in the house at this time of day tended to be a rarity, which suited Callum down to the ground: the Highway patriarch would usually be four rounds into an afternoon of drinking at the local pub by now, not staggering home until after dark, by which time Callum would be safely stowed away in bed. _

_So Jonno’s presence in the flat that afternoon suggested he had most likely run out of drinking funds. A brief glance about them by Callum confirmed that to be the case: half-open, ransacked drawers & cupboards showing all of the classic signs his father had been on the prowl for money, or items of enough value that he could pawn, to further sustain his drinking habit._

_“I…er…” Callum had begun to weakly stutter out. “I got homework to finish, so I’ll be in my room…”  
His father had passed no comment in return, seemingly allowing his younger son an escape from his flaring temper. Callum though should have known it wouldn’t ever be that easy, gulping his fear down sharply when he entered his bedroom, his eyes first drawn by the realisation his belongings too had been looted, then falling upon the familiar item before him on his bed._

_“Care to explain what THAT is still doing in this flat, boy?” Jonno’s voice raged out of nowhere from behind him.  
Callum shifted his weight from foot to foot in an awkward display of anxiety.  
“Because, if I am not very much mistaken…” Jonno continued to bluster, now right beside his son & prodding an accusatory finger into his chest. “We agreed it was for the bin when you turned ten…”_

_It should have been comical really: a short, stout man goading aggressively at the chest of his much taller, lankier son: a Seventies sitcom writer would have had the proverbial field day. Yet, despite the height difference, with Jonno snapping around his son’s heels like a pitbull terrier, for Callum this scenario presented him with nothing but fright._

_“What you got to say for yourself then, boy?” Jonno squared up to his son, straining his calves to gain additional height & making himself known directly within Callum’s face.  
“I, er…” It was no use, Callum was not one of life’s deceivers. Nor was he quick-witted enough to come up with a viable excuse. He chastised himself privately for that realisation, having known in his heart of hearts this day would come, & that in reality he’d had three plus years to prepare for it, not to mention equip himself with an adequate excuse._

_“What’s that boy?” Jonno continued to be right in his son’s face. “Cat got your tongue?” Darkened pupils that were dilated with rage pierced straight through Callum into his soul. “Nothing to say for yourself, hey?” The elder man provoked. “Just cos you’re a lanky bastard nowadays don’t make you too old for a clip round the earhole from your old Dad…”_

_With no further warning, Jonno struck a sickening blow to the side of Callum’s head: fist making contact with jugular, causing Callum to lose his balance, stumbling awkwardly forward & collapsing front-first onto the bed. Jonno was seemingly unimpressed with what he saw. “Bleedin’ Bambi’s got better coordination than you boy…”_

_Callum didn’t move, recognising that to do so would be the likely cause of more provocation. So instead he remained still, just tilting his head a little to take in the vision of his faithful kaleidoscope beside him on the mattress. As he lay there, he tried to transmit silent messages of apology to his favourite childhood toy:_

_I shouldn’t have been so careless; this is all my fault…_

_I’m sorry for whatever’s about to befall you…_

_As far as Jonno was concerned, you see, the ten-year-old Callum had acquiesced to his father’s wishes & expelled the kaleidoscope from their home. Unable to stomach even the notion of suggesting he’d binned it, Callum had made up an elaborate hoax detailing how he’d gifted it to a local charity shop, in the hope another child would take even half the pleasure from it he himself had. Jonno had proclaimed his youngest son soft, but had let the matter slide at that, rejoicing smugly that at least the item that took Callum to an imaginary space was no more._

_In reality, though, Callum had retained his kaleidoscope as treasure: a beloved item buried beneath his bed in a nondescript box, it only saw the light of day when Callum was certain it was safe for it to. As each year had passed, Callum’s reliance on the kaleidoscope had ebbed a little, but his old faithful friend had always continued to be there as the most reassuring of presences whenever needed._

_And how he needed him then, as Callum felt the restrictive press of his father’s lower arm into the back of his neck, pressing him down further into the mattress. “You know what boy?” Jonno’s harsh words cut through Callum’s thoughts. “I’ve a good mind to stick that godforsaken toy where the sun don’t shine…” As he spoke, Jonno snatched the kaleidoscope up off the bed, leaving a stricken Callum to simply shut his eyes against the onslaught. “Knowing you though, I reckon you might just enjoy that a bit too much…” As if to emphasise his utter disdain at the thought, Jonno jabbed his arm even more firmly into his prone son’s neck._

_Callum simply lay & took it, squinting his eyes even tighter shut in an effort to block out the pain: he’d learnt this trick in recent years, that on the days when he couldn’t turn to his kaleidoscope to provide those colours & patterns, if he skewed his eyes tight shut he could still recreate them in his own mind’s eye. It didn’t give the same sense of comfort as gripping the toy between his hands, but did at least offer some respite. _

_“I’ll tell you now boy…” Jonno’s harsh narrative continued to penetrate Callum’s being, even as he tried to lose himself among the endless swirls & colours beyond his eyelids. “I won’t stand for descent from my own flesh & blood…” In a move that was so sudden & decisive it took Callum a few moments to realise what was actually happening, Jonno’s hold relented, leaving the younger Highway to gasp in some much needed shallow breaths of air. _

_As his equilibrium came back to him, Callum dared to peek up from the mattress to establish his father’s whereabouts, only to be instantly horrified to find his father standing by the open window dangling the kaleidoscope perilously from his grasp. “Let this be a lesson to you boy…” Jonno had uttered coldly, before releasing the toy from his hand, leaving it to plummet to its fate…_  
_ _ _

Callum hadn’t truly understood the extent or true meaning of his father’s vitriol on that day; too consumed at the time by the hundreds of intricate pieces his precious kaleidoscope has shattered into on the pavement far below. With the benefit of hindsight though, & the occasional moment of self-realisation in Callum’s most candid of times with himself, the one takeaway of that whole incident had actually been his father’s homophobic slurs against him, & his outlining in no uncertain terms that any such behaviour would never be deemed acceptable. 

Which was why now, as Callum rounded his way into the park to meet Ben as planned, all sense of courage, expectation & determination had long since escaped him: replaced by the acerbic censorship of his childhood upbringing.


	2. Chapter 2

“You took ya time…”

The line was classic Ben Mitchell, whichever way you looked at it: whether in the metaphorical sense of Callum’s late blossoming from his heterosexual cocoon; or the time it had actually taken him to arrive for their clandestine meeting after dark. Either way, & even though the delivery of the observation by Ben had been pitch perfect in respect of feigning casual disinterest, he knew neither version to actually be true. Neither, for that matter, was his indifference at Callum’s opting to follow through on their arrangement; that was just Ben’s self-defence mechanism against rejection.

How could Ben be so sure his opening gambit was a misnomer? Because he himself had once been in the position Callum was now, figuratively at any rate. The simple fact of the matter was that there was no time limit on admitting your sexuality: no deadline on declaring it loud & proud, other than the one imposed by yourself. Equally though, when someone presented you with the opportunity to finally be true to yourself, & you admitted to yourself that was something you wanted more than anything, you didn’t dawdle or dally in reaching them. You set off with a fire in your belly & a determination in your soul that finally your destiny was within range. 

What Ben hadn’t realised though when he himself was once walking the path Callum was treading now, was just how similarly mind-blowing the experience was from the other side of the fence: as the man providing the guiding hand just as much as the one being guided.

Ben’s gulp down of nerves, & the associated uncertainty in his eyes, may have been less apparent in the darkness compared with that of Callum’s, part illuminated as his was by the moonlight, but it was there all the same. 

Watching the tense dip of Callum’s Adams Apple, as the man swallowed down hard against the anxiety he was so obviously experiencing, Ben leant nonchalantly against the wall, & hoped to god he was projecting a front that was a whole lot calmer than he was actually feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

“You know what I think about?” Having gained a modicum of control over his own breathing, Callum finally ventured some words. He held the distance between himself & the other man; not daring to step closer in case his reality was seen, again. Finding himself positioned under the searching gaze of a streetlamp, that possibility seemed far more likely than he was comfortable with. 

“Tell me…” Ben presumed himself to know the answer, but decided to entertain the question anyway. There was an art to the role of cajoling encouragement he was sure, so maybe listening to the closeted gay’s innermost thoughts was a step towards that…

“Pickin’ up a brick & smashin’ your head in…” Even though he was speaking the words, Callum felt them to be foreign to his tongue. 

_…Then again_ , Ben mused in answer to himself only; those sentiments being the very last he expected to hear. He remained stock still in the shadows; gave no response. 

“All this week, your little digs, your little wind ups: I kept thinkin’, how can I make him stop? How can I make him go?” Callum found the desperate delivery of those feelings considerably easier to swallow, given they were entirely true. Ben’s near omnipotent presence had been causing him a constant sense of unease & dread after all.

Ben could scarcely mask his disappointment; an all too familiar scenario threatening to play out between them. He cast a fleeting glance across to his left; the suspicion playing through his mind that Callum was taking the easy option. “Is that why I’m ‘ere? An empty park, in the middle of the night?”

Callum actually looked around himself for the first time at that question, & realised their surroundings offered the potential not just for privacy, but similarly for an unspeakable crime to be committed. Even if he had no such intention of carrying out any such brutality, it couldn’t hurt for Ben to lose the upper hand just once. “This is what it feels like to be scared…”

“You think I’m scared?” Ben kept his tone neutral; fought away any whiff of incredulity.  
“To know that one little minute, you could lose everythin’…”  
“So go on then…hit me…” Ben stepped from out of the shadows to narrow the distance between them, the taller man instantly wrong footed in the process, as he cagily watched the other perch his weight down against a bench. “It’s not like you ain’t done it before…” 

Callum found himself stunned to silence, near mesmerised by Ben’s resignation to his apparent fate: there was no bold move to strike the first blow, nor any attempt to bolt from the scene. Instead, just a doleful forbearance of what was to come: deep in his mind’s eye, Callum recognised his own childlike self in that passive resolve: to accept whatever would be dealt to him. Somewhere in his memory, he felt the weight of his father’s arm pressing at the back of his neck; heard the shatter of the kaleidoscope as it hit the ground. 

“You’ve been thinkin’ about it, so: hit me…shut me up; make me go…” Ben was a man of instinctive reaction: if you had a thought you acted on it; if a fantasy played on repeat through your mind, you indulged it. “If I disgust you that much…” He saw Callum’s reality, saw all of the signs: knew it wasn’t disgust staring back at him, just fear. Adrenaline-filled fear of breaching a step into the unknown.

“It ain’t like you’re the first,” Ben continued wryly. “Bullied at school; shut out by my dad; battered in prison; beaten by the boys that kicked Paul to death…See people like me; that’s what people like you do, so if it’s gonna make you feel better, hit me…” 

That distinction Ben tried to drive between them struck deep in Callum’s soul: _People like me; people like you:_ Callum detested the mere inference that he was more aligned to the bigots of the world than the broadminded. There before him was his chance to break free from that association for good, if he could just find it in himself to do so. He was exhausted by the pretence of the façade he had tried to aggressively maintain during the past minute alone.

“HIT me…” Ben continued to antagonise, refusing as ever to be cast as the victim. He’d take the beating, even if they both knew it would be dealt in the interests of upholding a front, rather than any notion, deep-rooted or otherwise, of homophobia. Ben took no shame in who he was, & despite his best efforts at giving reassurance, was growing weary of playing the guiding role. He was offering Callum a route back from the brink, & mentally braced himself to absorb it, as the man before him was apparently too weak to admit his own truth.

The air settled heavily between them for agonising moments, as Ben gulped greedily at it in preparation for the winding that was certain to follow; Callum meanwhile seemed to scan his own retinas for any sort of script to direct him: that was the problem, when you were reeling off someone’s else’s thoughts & opinions – sooner or later, all you’d be left with was your own to flounder upon. 

Eventually, the latter spoke, adjusting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “I, I’ve got a flat; I’ve got a girl; I’ve got everythin’…” Callum paused to privately acknowledge that he was giving his own narrative for the very first time, & just how massive that was. “So, why do I feel so lonely?” 

Ben’s bristle instantly began to soften at the emotional honesty on sudden display before him, his posture relenting in unspoken suggestion for the man to continue.  
Which Callum did, slowly crumpling into tears. “I am so tired of feelin’ lonely…” A flood of emotions began to wash over his face, as he battled solo through a potent mix of shame, embarrassment & unease. Somewhere hidden beneath all of that lay relief too, although he wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge its presence; focused instead on concealing his awkwardness by turning partially away, in a vain attempt to disguise his distress.

Ben recognised this outpouring, by god he did, so bowed his head to ease any level of scrutiny Callum felt himself to be under. More than that though, he took the time to collect together his thoughts, silently empathising with each & every emotional response unravelling before him. There were ugly, despairing sobs bursting from Callum, but in that moment Ben knew them to also be cathartic & wavering on the edge of real & beautiful epiphany. He needed the man to understand that.

He rose lightly to his feet; movements slow & deliberate so as not to spook his companion. He could feel a glistening of moisture in his own eyes, & wanted Callum to see that response for himself, so raised his left hand to rest it gently at the other man’s cheek, holding it there without saying a word.

Callum cast an uncertain side glance at its presence on his face, then looked directly to Ben: part in search of reassurance; part in search of validation that his own imagination wasn’t playing tricks on him. The soft, slow trawl of Ben’s fingers along his stubble providing the absolute confirmation this was very much real.

Ben remained still & silent, hand ever present against Callum’s skin, as he gave him the time & space he needed to adjust through a series of short rattling breaths that admitted much-needed air to his lungs. There was a questioning hesitance in the taller man’s eyes, to which Ben’s responded with a steadying sense of calm, making it clear that nothing would take place that he wasn’t comfortable with. This was an act of solidarity; a gift of assurance that Callum wasn’t on his own; the promise there was more to come if, when, Callum was ready.

With a near imperceptible move his head, Ben sought a silent permission, which was granted with a faint nod from Callum, despite the fog of confusion cluttering both his thoughts & vision. Slow & subtle, Ben trailed his hand down Callum’s jaw, to touch it lightly to his neck & draw him gently in. It was peculiar what heightened senses took on board in such moments, Ben’s hearing taking in the barking of a nearby dog for no apparent reason as they honed in on a kiss. 

Their lips drifted together in a manner that seemed impossibly delicate; intentionally understated from Ben’s side, as he remained passive & serene; content to let Callum find his own centre of gravity. Even with eyes closed, he could sense the moment it hit for Callum, as he felt the man sway ever so slightly deeper into their contact. 

The kiss passed almost immediately though, as Callum’s lips began to drift away from his. Ben stalled from opening his eyes momentarily: not wanting to break the spell, in case the eyes looking back at him spoke of anything different from that he was feeling. He needn’t have been concerned though, finding a sudden brightness in Callum’s gaze & a clearing of his previously tentative expression, replaced by something altogether more decisive.


	4. Chapter 4

With the rising attraction between them heralded discreetly in a wistful gaze, they drifted back into each other, the kiss packed instantly with greater intent this time, as Ben’s hands rushed to Callum’s neck to splay caressing fingers to his skin & draw him in more firmly. The time for passivity had passed.

At the tender parting of their lips, Ben found himself thrown utterly off guard by the surge of Callum’s hands to the zip of his leather jacket, which was ripped down in mere moments; a grunt of sheer animal magnetism escaping Ben at that most unexpected of incursions as he found his weight pushed back down onto the bench. In one act alone, Callum had demonstrated any stage fright he might have been experiencing to have evaporated.

As if to emphasise the point further, Callum’s hands found their way to the back of Ben’s neck, pulling his mouth ever more insistently onto his; large, claiming hands, Ben’s hormone-addled brain noted, that he wouldn’t mind laying possession to other parts of his anatomy soon. As Callum’s hands began to seek out the buttons of his shirt, Ben’s breathing could barely keep up with the rapidity of it all, but there was a point of practicality that he was determined to address.

“Callum man,” Ben leant back a little from the breathless kisses & gripped his hands to Callum’s fingers as a means of capturing the apparently insatiable man’s attention. “It’s a warm night yeah, & this…” Ben wiggled a finger between them to indicate he was referring to their present interaction. “This is hot…” He is placed resonant emphasis on the final consonant. “But the whole tryin’ to strip me out of my clothes thing ain’t exactly practical when we’re al fresco…” 

Callum looked momentarily affronted, hands still gripped tight to Ben’s shirt lapels, but he nodded his acceptance of that assertion. Ben registered the disappointment though in his eyes, & sought to immediately counteract any hint of suggestion that the man’s technique was flawed. “I ain’t suggestin’ ya stop…” Ben smirked wickedly, pressing weight against Callum’s clasped hands to afford them both the space to manoeuvre back up to stand vertical. “I’m just suggestin’ ya alter the game plan…”

Once fully standing, Ben guided Callum’s hands to where they could untuck his shirt from his trousers. “Just go under, instead of through, yeah?” He clarified, flashing a smile of seductive encouragement through glinting eyes, then scooping an arm round Callum’s neck to arc him back down for another snog.

Ben couldn’t help but grin into their kiss as he felt the beginnings of Callum’s flat-palmed hands wandering their way beneath his shirt & up his chest; his smile widening further still when he felt it reciprocated by Callum. As Callum’s hands reached Ben’s pectorals & cupped lightly at them, he stalled, withdrawing from their kiss to look Ben dead in the eye. “What did ya just call me, anyway?”

“You’re choosin’ this precise moment to have a chat?” Ben looked bemused & a little crestfallen; thirty seconds previous, the man had seemed hell bent on ripping the clothes from his back, now he wanted a chinwag.   
Callum’s eyes though simply beamed with amusement. “Ya called me Callum man – that like Action Man, is it?”

Ben’s head tilted at the sheer audacity of the man; trying to outdo Ben Mitchell, no less. “I’ll call ya anythin’ ya like, if you’ll get back to clamberin’ all over me like ya were before…” He gave the matter another moment’s thought though, suddenly spying an opportunity. “Why ya so keen to know, anyhow? A turn on for ya, is it?”

Callum suddenly marvelled; this was the sort of flirtatious Ben Mitchell gameplay that had been making him feel awkward for so long, yet now here he was participating in it. “Might be,” he smiled ambiguously. “Wouldn’t you like to know…”

“I would actually,” Ben sniffed out casually, lifting a leg to kneel it on the bench behind him. “Just hope to god you’re better endowed than them Action Man toys are,” he quirked an eyebrow inquisitively, then grasped his hands to the front of Callum’s jacket. “Now enough of the chit-chat, on with the action…” As if to emphasise his demand, he yanked at Callum’s clothing to pull him to stand in the gap between his open legs. Relocating his hands to the man’s arse, he pushed Callum’s waist into his own, & was pleased to feel the already developing answer to his prayers bulging beneath Callum’s jeans. 

Ben was treading a fine line though, wanting neither to spook Callum by pushing things along too fast, nor mislead him into thinking a few heated kisses & the fumble of hands beneath a shirt was all they were here for. He settled on mirroring Callum’s advances for now, reasoning that he could always give the man a gentle shove in the right direction in due course if need be. 

Swiping his tongue along Callum’s lower lip in a request for deeper access, it was duly granted without hesitation, allowing their tongues to mingle for the first time. Ben moaned into the contact, enjoying the infusion of their saliva, hands grasping to tug the hemline of Callum’s shirt from his trousers, so his hands too could wander against the skin beneath. 

It wasn’t often like this for Ben: skin on skin contact; long, lingering touches. Most sexual encounters for him were rush jobs: hands dipped beneath boxer short waistlines; jeans barely undone beyond the buckle; just a desperate attempt to get each other off in the shortest timespan possible. Callum’s approach was already something different, & already something Ben could privately admit he wasn’t entirely averse to: large, gentle hands that seemed intent on exploring every inch of their prize. He understood the need from Callum for it to be this way, so resolved to exercise patience for him, however great the urge to move things along.

Callum’s body weight though was creeping ever closer into his, threatening to destabilise Ben’s position against the bench; Ben already knowing he was going to enjoy being crowded beneath the taller man’s frame. It was only seconds later that it actually began to happen: Callum over-eagerly leaning into Ben, requiring the younger man to swiftly brace a palm behind him on the bench to stop himself from toppling clean over. 

He expelled another grunt of enthralled surprise. “Stronger than ya look, ain’t ya?”  
“Proper short arse, ain’t you?” Callum batted back in an equally teasing tone; face still in close proximity to the other man’s, expelling heated breaths that whispered against his cheek.  
Ben smiled, perhaps a tad insincerely, although secretly he was loving this most unexpected spirited interplay between them. “Better do somethin’ to address that height difference between us then, hadn’t ya…”

Callum took the instruction, resetting himself to perpendicular, then offering a hand out to Ben so he could pull him back up too.   
Ben tried hard not to overthink the butterfly effect that smallest of gestures had within his gut, concentrating instead on Callum leading them around to the side of the bench, where they wouldn’t be impeded by the restrictions of its seat. Releasing his grip on Ben’s hand, Callum then gently set himself down to sit on the table, offering an appeasing smile. “That do for ya?”

Ben near swaggered his way back into his man’s space. “Almost perfect,” he confirmed, setting his hands to Callum’s knees, then slowly running them up his inner thighs. “Just need to create a bit of room for me in here…” Applying gentle pressure through his hands, he quietly cajoled Callum into opening out his legs for him, before expertly sliding his way into the newly-created gap. “Perfect now…” Ben smiled an appreciation of his own efforts, while his fingers loitered at Callum’s thighs. 

Callum looked from Ben’s fingers to his face then back down again, his tongue instinctively swiping out from his mouth to add much needed moisture to quench his lower lip.   
Ben took the lack of any resistance to the manoeuvre as approval to continue, so splayed his palms to the top of Callum’s thighs, with each thumb suspended down against the inner seams of his jeans. Leaning in to add more weight to his presence, Ben instigated a kiss between them, while his thumbs set to work with a gentle rubbing motion. 

Callum couldn’t resist a moan of satisfaction, which was all the impetus Ben needed to gradually creep the rubbing movement of his thumbs higher, then even higher still. An uninhibited whimper of surprise escaping Callum’s lips as Ben’s thumbs began to encircle against his already straining crotch. 

“You like…” Ben mumbled into their kiss; Callum uncertain whether it was a question, an observation or a command.  
“I like…” He managed to rush out, instantly no longer capable of sustaining their kiss, surrendering instead & tipping his head upwards to the night sky.

Ben thrilled on having this much control in his hands alone: the promise that he could deliver on so much more, or cruelly deny it at any moment. He pressed his lips down onto Callum’s exposed neck, depositing hot, heavy kisses against the skin. “You want more?” It was more obviously voiced as a question this time, Ben wanting it to be clear that consent was never presumed.

“Need more…” Callum confirmed breathlessly, his voice suddenly hoarse with desire.  
Ben delighted in the man’s emotional honesty in the heat of the moment: he’d already expressed his want for this to happen; now he was admitting to a whole new level of need. “Always a big turn on that,” he heaped on praise, now alternating between kisses & delicate nips to Callum’s neck. “A man who knows what he wants & needs…”

Ben slid a hand fully from the man’s thigh & began to cup, then paw, at the protruding bulge beneath Callum’s jeans, eliciting a long groan of pleasure from his man. “Things must be gettin’ a bit tight for space down there I reckon…” Ben suggested teasingly, knowing full well Callum was fit to burst. “Ya want me to help you, out?” He placed unnecessary emphasis on the final word in his question. 

Callum rolled his eyes, but knew he was already in no state to retaliate. “You know I do…” he managed to growl out, surprising himself even by giving a tentative thrust upwards into Ben’s open palm.   
“Hot & eager for me,” Ben bit down on his lip with a smirk. “Always knew ya were…”


	5. Chapter 5

Callum found himself to be holding in a breath as his eyes met with Ben’s, & their combined gaze drifted southwards to watch the progress of Ben’s hand at the zip of his jeans. 

Callum was self-directing his intake of deep breaths, grasping helplessly for a semblance of composure, while Ben seemed deep in concentration, apparently consumed by the gravitas of the moment.

A soft breeze whispered through the air around them, but all seemed silent beyond that. With one stealth-like tug, Ben felled the zip against which Callum’s appendage had been straining, causing an immediate sigh of relief to ease itself from the taller man’s lips.

Ben let his fingers creep their way into the newly-created pocket, smoothing their way over the firmness within. Callum bracing his hands to the edge of the bench at the sensation of that fleeting touch alone: the intensity of the moment already near too much for him to bear.

That sense of an emotion that was all-consuming resonated hard for Ben, who knew all too well the sensation of freeing one’s self from the shackles rooted deep within. Leaving his hand in position between Callum’s legs, he leant forward to cup his other hand at the other man’s cheek, tenderly stroking along the bone there contained with the pad of his thumb. “Relax…” he soothed in a voice that was more poetically soulful than Callum could ever have expected. “Lose yourself…”

Ben stayed motionless then, hands still at rest against Callum, waiting for the permission to continue. He wasn’t made to wait long, as Callum’s eyes lifted to engage with his; electrified blue portholes that seemed the gateways to his very soul. Ben captivated at the sight, matching Callum’s intoxicating gaze with an alluring glint in his own.

Letting the hand at Callum’s cheek slide softly down to his neck, Ben swept their lips together in a kiss, while his fingers at Callum’s lower half resumed in a stroking movement. “Lose yourself…” Ben repeated through a mumble into their kiss that reverberated a vibration between their lips. 

Callum felt himself tremble at the sensation, relocating his hands from the bench to Ben’s waist, guiding the man in closer to him. It was all he could do to absorb the scratch of stubble between their skin & the caress of Ben’s hand between his legs though; reciprocating any of those favours well beyond his reach at that moment.

So he simply followed the advice he had been given & honed on in what he could feel, smell, taste in the deliciousness of their contact. The glide of Ben’s hand between his thighs; the intoxicating fresh scent of Ben’s aftershave; the peculiar mix of beer & shots on Ben’s tongue. Ben’s name was quickly becoming the only thing to cascade through his mind; the only word he wanted to utter from his lips. 

In the midst of what was becoming an increasingly desiring kiss though, any attempt by Callum to utter Ben’s name came out as little more than a moan, received only by Ben as an encouragement to continue as he was. With intentionally slow progress, Ben began to tease his hand first up the leg of Callum’s boxers, then work it eventually beneath the waistband. 

At the first graze of skin to skin contact from Ben’s hand, Callum felt a fire erupt like never before: there was something in the slightly coarse texture of the man’s hand against him that just felt so utterly right. Callum needed to concentrate on that one devastating touch alone for a second, so raised a hand to gently guide their mouths apart; Ben initially appearing uncertain as to what was happening, but then seeing the rush of desire in Callum’s eyes & understanding the need for the moment to be savoured.

Tipping his forehead briefly to rest against Callum’s, Ben then took the man’s length fully in his hand for the first time, delivering a tantalising stroke from base to tip. From the quivering of Callum’s facial features within his eye line, Ben recognised this moment well: the instant of epiphany; the point at which you began to find your true self for the very first time. 

It may have been in the black of night, but Ben knew then that he wanted to make this a dawn of new light for Callum. Teasing their lips back softly together, he feathered light kisses between them, punctuating them with moans of want & encouragement as his hand began to work to a rhythm down below. 

Callum was instantly sent, responding with his own sighs of gratification; eyes periodically drifting shut as he drank in the endless sensations of pleasure. Effortlessly losing himself in Ben’s hypnotic utterings & motions, Callum glanced the beginnings of kaleidoscopic colours within, only to have them shuttered off from his vision, at the sudden, unexpected pull of Ben at his arm, urging him away from the bench & up against the unlit wall.


End file.
